


Painplay jerkoff ficlet

by Sena



Series: Hold This Rope [4]
Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Painplay, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon was always a prodigy when it came to getting himself off.  When Brendon's parents leave him alone for the night, the clothespins and other household pervertables come out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painplay jerkoff ficlet

Brendon sits at the kitchen table doing his homework even after his parents leave. He's jittery and he can't keep from bouncing his leg up and down in the way that annoys the shit out of his father, especially when he does it at the table, but he doesn't even try to stop it. His parents are gone, will be gone for twenty-four hours, and Brendon's got the whole house to himself.

They hadn't said anything about him not being allowed to have a party because it was kind of a moot point. Brendon doesn't know enough people to have a decent party, and even if he did, the neighbors are all nosey gossips and would tell his parents as soon as they got home.

Brendon doesn't care. Brendon's got twenty-four hours of complete and total freedom, and he intends to use them all.

He keeps working on his homework, waiting for them to come back because they forgot something. He finishes his German and reads his stupid US History textbook even though he totally doesn't remember what he read as soon as he closes it.

After half an hour, which is totally restraint in his book, Brendon rushes upstairs and locks himself in his room and he's twitchy and turned on and he strips and throws his clothes on the floor and kneels in the middle of his room and jerks off with all the lights on. He comes quickly, and he licks his fingers clean and groans at how dirty and fucking hot it makes him feel, and he grins in anticipation.

He's got the best fucking secret stash ever, hidden all over his room. He strips the top sheet off his bed and lays it on the carpet, then starts digging in all his hiding places. He's got a tube of Bengay in his sock drawer. He's got a plastic bag full of wooden and plastic clothespins stuffed in the far corner of the shelf in his closet. He's got rubber bands and a jar of Vaseline in his desk, a lighter hidden behind his books, a flat wooden paddle hairbrush at the bottom of his hamper, and seven white candles bundled up and taped to the underside of his box spring.

He lays everything out on the floor within easy reach and sits cross legged on the sheet. He opens up the bag of clothespins and pulls out a handful, spreading them across the sheet. The plastic ones have a fierce bite, so the wooden ones are better to start out with. He pinches a tiny little bit of skin on the inside of his right thigh and secures a clothespin there. He takes a deep breath and breathes through the ache, then places another one, then another. His cock isn't hard again, yet, but he knows it will be soon.

He lines the insides of his thighs with clothespins, then lies back as he moves up his torso. The sides of his stomach are more sensitive than the center, so he clips the pins there. The ache is starting to build in him and his breath is coming quick. He runs a line of clothespins up both sides of his body, then wiggles and feels them move and tug and he presses his head back into the floor and closes his eyes and enjoys it. He pinches his nipples, pinches and twists and rubs until they're hard and dark and he puts one of the dark green plastic clothespins on his left nipple and can't stop the soft groan. It bites it hard and sends sparks right to his cock. He does it again with his right nipple, repositions it when he doesn't get a great bite the first time.

He lies on the floor, arms and legs spread, eyes closed, breathing. He wiggles his hips, then his shoulders, bites his lip as the dull ache builds into something well-defined. Brendon licks his lips and waits for the pain to peak, to start flooding him with pleasure. It always feels good, but he's found that if he waits and lets it continue, it can go from good to completely amazing.

He thinks about somebody watching him. Not anybody in particular, just a man. Just a guy watching him do this to himself, getting off watching Brendon hurt himself. He doesn't have anyone in particular to think about because he's never actually fooled around with a guy, not even in a totally vanilla way.

He's kissed guys, sure. His friends kiss each other all the time, make out even, but it's just for show. It's just a thing they do, and then they laugh about it like it's funny. At first Brendon had worried that they'd laugh at him, but they don't. They think he's one of them, think he's just making out with guys for the same reasons they do, whatever those reasons are.

Brendon likes kissing his friends. Brent never really kisses, but sometimes he bites Brendon's lower lip and Brendon acts like it's funny even while the sharp sting of teeth burns hot in his gut. Ryan kisses more freely if there are hot girls around. Girls love to watch guys make out at parties, and Ryan's always scoring girls that way. And Spencer? Spencer kisses Brendon whenever he's bored.

It's cool that Spencer's into making out whenever he's bored, because he doesn't just kiss Brendon at parties for show. He'll also kiss Brendon when they're just hanging out watching a movie or playing video games or sitting in the car two blocks from Brendon's house because he doesn't want to go home.

Brendon thinks it's kind of lame that the most erotic experience of his entire life happened in Spencer's mom's station wagon while Matchbox 20 played on the radio. They'd just been killing time because Brendon's curfew on Friday nights was ten, and it was only nine-thirty, and Brendon didn't want to go home. They'd been sitting there listening to the radio and talking about music and Spencer had tipped his head towards Brendon and said, "So, hey," which meant he was bored and wanted to make out.

So they'd been kissing, nothing else. They'd just been kissing, and Spencer kissed slow and deliberate and sometimes reached up to touch Brendon's face to get him to slow down. They'd been kissing, Spencer's hand on the side of Brendon's face, Brendon's cock so fucking hard in his jeans from the taste of Spencer's mouth and the sounds of their tongues and lips meeting and coming apart. He'd leaned back to take a breath, and Spencer had leaned forward like he didn't want to stop for even that little minute, leaned forward and kissed Brendon hard and wound his fingers in Brendon's hair like he was trying to keep him from pulling away again and it was the hottest moment in Brendon's entire life.

It's kind of sad because Brendon's actually had sex. Sort of. He almost put it inside this girl Misty from church camp but she'd said she didn't want to get pregnant so instead he'd rubbed it against her and came on her thigh. And he's gotten actual blowjobs. Two of them! One from Misty and one from this girl Kenzie he'd hung out with for a while sophomore year. So Brendon's had actual sex with girls that wasn't half as hot as the way Spencer had leaned in and kissed him and grabbed his hair.

Brendon thinks about the guy watching him kissing him that way, gripping his hair tight and kissing him and growling dirty things in his ear.

The things Brendon thinks of while he's getting off are so stupid. He feels guilty and weird afterwards, but while he's turned on it's fucking hot to think about the guy calling him a fuckslut. He'd heard that in a movie, once, had heard some guy call a sex phone operator a fuckslut, tell her he was going to put a plastic bag over her head and fuck her while she suffocated.

Brendon thinks he probably should have been disturbed instead of really fucking turned on. He thinks he probably shouldn't have come away from that scene with the desire for some guy to suffocate him and call him a fuckslut.

He runs his fingers over his skin, just to the inside of the row of clothespins. He strokes his cock, squeezes it, pulls on his balls just a little too hard, just until he whimpers and his hips roll of their own volition. Then he starts pulling the clothespins off. It aches, the initial snap as he yanks them off, then the burn as his blood rushes back. It aches and he moans and his eyes fill with tears but he keeps going, and his cock is still hard.

He gasps as he pulls the final two clothespins off his nipples. He gasps and he's crying a little bit from the pain and he rubs his fingers over his nipples roughly, then pinches them, pulls at them until they're hot again.

He snaps the first rubber right below his belly button. He spreads the band wide with the fingers of one hand, pulls up with the other and lets go and it stings and jolts him and he does it again and again. He leaves welts on his inner thighs and his chest and over his nipples. He pinches and twists them over and over again, wants them so sore that they ache for days.

He lines the thick rubber band up over his cock and he's scared of how much it's going to hurt. He's scared, but it's like it's not even in his control anymore. He's so turned on and he has to hurt himself, has to make it bad, because he's a fuckslut, because he's a dirty little pervert, because he needs it more than he needs to breathe.

He lines the thick rubber band up over his cock and pulls up and lets it go and it snaps hard against the underside of his cockhead and hurts so bad that he cries out and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself, hands held protectively over his dick.

Then he rolls onto his belly, one hands still on his cock, and he fucks his hips into his fist. It still hurts, but it's so good. He grabs one of the candles and the Vaseline and slicks it up and slides it into his ass. It doesn't hurt much, is a little uncomfortable but in a way that makes his cock harder. He fucks himself with the candle and jerks himself off and arches his chest so he can get his sore nipples to drag over the sheet and he thinks of the guy watching him, getting ready to fuck him, getting ready to make Brendon his little fuckslut, and he comes hard, gasping, collapsing onto his belly and rutting against his hand and the sheets.

He shakes for a while after he comes, then shifts uncomfortably, shoulder pulled too tight beneath him, candle pressing at a sharp angle. He shifts and makes himself lick all his come off his hand even though he doesn't want it. He does it because it feels dirty and he _likes_ feeling dirty. He eases the candle out and then stretches back out on his stomach, sweaty and breathing too hard.

The guilt rises after a while. He feels so stupid, ridiculous, ashamed of himself and the fucked up ways he gets off. He thinks about throwing everything away, the clothespins and the candles and the Bengay, all of it. He thinks about throwing it away but he doesn't because even beneath the guilt, he knows it'll only be an hour or two before he does it again.


End file.
